Chapter 17 Neve
SEVENTEEN
NEVE
“I’m serious, Neve. If you don’t keep me updated every step of the fucking way, I’m cutting you off.”
I smirk as I dip my head and drink from my silver cup at the table on the second floor of Sky Arena, right beside the bar. The rum and Diet Coke are warm on my tongue, cooled only by the ice, and I lift my eyes to meet Cynthia’s.
She flashes her teeth, her cheeks turning pink as she glances at my phone.
“Hi, Nolan!” Her voice is high-pitched and decidedly un-Cynthia Espinosa-like.
It sounds friendly, but she is not Nolan’s biggest fan.
They’ve met a handful of times, mostly he’s come over to furnish something in our apartment or give me money, which I don’t complain about.
Secretly, he’s coming to check up on me, and that’s what bothers Cyn.
She says he’s too controlling. But Cyn has both parents.
She doesn’t know how siblings can come together when Mommy and Daddy abandon you.
And despite my cavalier attitude, I do take Nolan seriously.
Mom and Marty absolutely do not contribute to my living expenses and while I had a part-time job all three years prior to this one, and made decent money coaching over the summer, I quit at the clothing store on campus when Nolan offered to put money in my account every two weeks and it was decidedly much more than I was making selling overpriced faux cashmere.
He said my last year was important and in the spring semester, I should get an internship.
Told me to let coaching go just for now.
I’m planning to do just that, with the internship.
If I get myself together enough to apply for one.
If Nolan could see what I just spent his allowance on—drinks for me, Cyn, Tas, and her friend, Karter—he might order me back to work.
“Hi Cynthia,” Nolan says quietly, and I nod to Cynthia to let her know he responded to her.
Too many bodies are pressed into this place and too many voices raised before the game against the Queen’s Bees (seriously) to put him on speaker.
Usually he FaceTimes me, so I’m glad tonight was just a call.
Besides, Cyn doesn’t want to talk to him that badly. I don’t know if Nolan has ever been in a serious relationship; I think his job keeps him from anything like that. If other girls react like Cyn does to him, though, I almost feel sorry for him.
Almost.
“I promise I’ll keep you updated, but honestly, I don’t think we need to worry anymore.”
“He hasn’t had a funeral yet. That means they’re still looking at the body. That means we need to worry.”
I didn’t even know that, about the funeral. It’s good Nolan is keeping up to date on everything. I’m trying to drown it out.
“Shots, shots, shots!” Tas starts yipping out, and I watch her as she sways over to the bar, cutting in front of a Bees’ fan who can’t take his gaze from her mini skirt, tights, and the Dragon’s letterman jacket that cinches at the waist. She tosses her long, black hair over her shoulder and turns to wink at him.
I laugh out loud as I shake my head, Cynthia squealing with laughter too, and Karter rolls her eyes.
Karter has long, seafoam green hair, big green eyes, and curves that make me jealous.
She’s quiet, but I like her vibe, and the way she sips her drink slowly.
Kind of surprised she’s friends with someone like Tasia, who seems to be her polar opposite.
“You don’t need a shot,” Nolan says, sighing into the phone. “You need an early bedtime. Less calories, more water.”
“Love you,” I say around a smile, ignoring him even as my stomach growls. He doesn’t know I haven’t eaten all day, despite my heavy lifting session this morning.
But if he did know, I feel a sick twist in my gut that he’d probably be proud.
“Goooodbyyyyyye,” Cynthia sing-songs.
Nolan doesn’t sound amused. “Goodnight, Neve.”
I end the call, and just before I’m about to put it in the pocket of my coat—white this time, with a red, sheer silk shirt beneath it, a pair of trousers that make my ass look delicious, and red heels tonight—I see a text.
33
Don’t take your eyes off me tonight.
My pulse skyrockets and when I lift my gaze as if someone will have seen Faust’s message to me, I see Tas prancing over with four shots, two in each hand, raised above her head like she’s a server.
I bite the inside of my cheek as Cyn and even Karter cheer when Tas sets the shots down. I wrinkle my nose; it looks like vodka.
But if Faust Darling is going to do this with me, I need to be tipsy.
Who said I was watching you tonight?
Despite myself, I wait when I see the three dots pop up. Shouldn’t he be warming up? We’re early to the game, sure, but he’s got more important things to do. He’s captain, and I’m sure he wants to play for the NHL. He needs to focus, doesn’t he?
When his next text comes through, it’s not words.
It’s a photo.
Of me.
Walking down the hall of the second floor of the arena, heading to the bar with the girls, but he zoomed in on me, my long, blond hair flipped over one shoulder as I turned to say something to Cyn. You can’t see my face, but you can see my ass.
My cheeks heat, and another text comes through.
33
I like what you’re wearing.
“Neve! Put that phone away!” Cyn’s voice cuts through my haze and I snap my head up, but no one is looking at my phone.
Tas’s shoulder bumps into mine as she nudges the plastic shot glass toward me and I drop my phone in my coat pocket without replying.
My pulse is fast and I snatch up the vodka quickly as we all lean in toward one another, Cyn and Karter on the opposite side of the standing room-only table.
We clink our cups together as Cyn says, “To hot hockey and winning tonight!”
I almost choke but I manage to pour the vodka down my throat and slam the little cup down with the girls, all four of ours tipping over to the side and rolling nearly off the table, leaving us to scramble after it and catch them before they hit the floor.
We all laugh and a few guys look over at us with smiles, but by the time we’re making our way to our seats—close to the home bench—my thoughts are only on one man.
Fuck.
They beat the Bees, which doesn’t sound like much of a flex, but considering the enemy’s team booed as loud as they could at all five goals—three assisted by Faust; one made by Sylvan—it’s impressive.
When Faust’s dark eyes met mine after Sylvan scored from the pass he slapped him, Cynthia and Tas both screamed, grabbing my shoulders like I just won the lottery.
Karter sat quietly, glancing at me with a small smile, and if I hadn’t been drunk, my attitude would’ve matched hers.
As it was, I clapped loudly, a smirk on my lips as I stared defiantly back at Faust.
Part of me thinks he just wants to fuck me; all of his eluding to me being a slut, and all the evidence I gave him it was true, but do I actually care?
It’s not like we’re doing anything serious anyway and having him close helps me keep a roundabout eye on Sylvan.
After he attacked Will, then grabbed me last night and lied about sleeping with me, I don’t trust him, and I don’t know that he didn’t have anything to do with what happened with Jackson.
Besides, how did he get my number? My address? How did he know Will on sight? How did he know his last name?
Is he that proficient at stalking?
But having Faust close feels—maybe wrongly—like a shield.
And seeing how the stadium goes crazy for him makes me want him more. I’ve fallen fully into the trap. Fame is an aphrodisiac.
But thinking of Faust has me thinking of Sylvan, and when Tas nudges me with her shoulder as we sit at the bar of Castles, a luxurious lounge that looks just like it sounds, I decide to put my circumstances to good use.
She slides another double rum and Coke my way—I need more sugar now; fuck you, Nolan—and I curl my fingers around the cold glass set atop the golden marble that makes up the bar.
With dim lighting, high, vaulted ceilings and fairy lights strung up just out of reach, not to mention the turrets, the stone, and the stained glass, this place lives up to its name.
It feels cozy but rich.
“My Buddy” by G-Unit is playing which is unexpected but I’m not mad at it.
When Tas and I clink our glasses together in the crowded bar, I grin at her as I take a gulp, then I dive right in.
“Cyn said you dated Sylvan.” I arch a brow, eyeing her jacket, only a red crop top beneath it.
She’s not wearing Sylvan’s name on her back right now and for reasons I chalk up to being fearful for her life because he’s insane, I feel good about that.
Her eyes widen and she takes another drink from her vodka cran, stalling to answer.
I laugh at that, unashamed. I’m tipsy, but I’m also digging Tas. She’s cool. And right now Cynthia and Karter are roped into conversation with two guys who look vaguely like football players at the table behind us, and Cynthia is smiling her face off, so she’s good.
“Dated is a strong word,” Tas says, her voice crisp and clear.
I’m unsurprised. “Tell me more.” I have to practically shout over the music, the people. There’s a line around us to get a drink, and more than a few guys look our way, but I’m not interested in them.
Not right now.
I might have midterms coming up, two essays due in two weeks that I haven’t started, and a murder investigation hanging over my head, but in my drunken state, this is more important.
Tas chews her bottom lip, her nose crinkled up as she glances at her drink, clutched between red-painted nails that match mine.
“Okay, so, we hooked up a few times.” Her eyes seem to light up as she says it, which surprises me. Not that they hooked up—which makes me feel weird and I couldn’t say why—but that she seems so giddy about it. Surely, she’s had better…right?
I take another drink.
I might finish this one before I find out the short history she has with the 20-year-old freshman, the way things are going.
“But he’s…”